


the ghosts of who we once were

by MistyMoon



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: mentions of will and bianca and jason and zoe n camp members in general, uhh mayhaps some lowkey implied suicidal thoughts??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 16:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18014201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyMoon/pseuds/MistyMoon
Summary: There are ghosts that we cannot erase, but instead, we’ll tend to them like open wounds, until they are only but a distant memory of who we were.(or that one fic where nico shows a form of emotional growth after all the shit he went through)





	the ghosts of who we once were

**Author's Note:**

> i know im op but. me while writing this: op what the fuck does any of this mean
> 
> not proof read at all

Nights were rarely peaceful for Nico Di Angelo.

The not cold enough to use a blanket, and yet not warm enough to not use one temperature inside his cabin, the wind forcefully hitting the closed windows, singing the pleas of the dead, the sickening smell of roses and lilies etched into the floorboards; cabin 13 looked ordinary, yet it was akin to a funeral home in its essence. No one alive, child of Hades or not, could stand to be in that place for too long. The air was always thick with dread, with regret, remorse, melancholy. It used to welcome Nico before - it amplified his own pain, at the same time it embraced him, made him feel safe - but not anymore. Now, it only reminds him of parts of his past he wishes he could forget.

Falling asleep was near impossible. There was always a part of his mind thinking about his sister, about Jason, about Zoe, about what could have been. ‘What if’s danced in his thoughts, alternative narratives being built in seconds. The comfort coming from those ideas lasted mere seconds, the pain of realizing they would never come true coming right after. 

Rare were the times when he would not think of them, the people he had lost, the people he had  _ failed _ . He knew it wasn’t his fault at all, but something deep inside thought otherwise. It was a constant tug-of-war;  _ it was your fault _ vs  _ it wasn’t at all _ ,  _ you killed them _ vs  _ you could not have done anything to stop it _ ,  _ if you had known _ vs  _ but you didn’t, let it go _ . It exhausted him, this eternal mental war, yet it always made him too agitated to sleep. It drained him, yet he didn’t know of a way to stop it, a way to block those thoughts. 

Even in his dreams, it haunted him, but never in the same way. It was an old woman, crying  _ please give me back my son _ , begging for mercy. It was one of Artemis’ hunters, desperate, searching for someone she would never find. It was another woman, her age uncertain, staring at a fire, sobbing  _ you saved them once, why couldn’t you save them again _ , a question always left unanswered, though one that Nico wishes he had the answer to. It was a young girl, feathers in her hair, grasping polaroid pictures that held the remnants of someone who once was. It was a child, running into the dark, Mythomagic cards in his hands as tears go down his cheeks (and there’s always someone calling his name, asking him to come back, but he never listens). It was someone on their knees, surrounded by shadows, whispering  _ i’m sorry _ , although it was never clear to whom they were apologizing. 

Nights like these were painful; it always felt like drowning, but there never was anywhere to escape. The air was like an ocean of memories that screamed too loudly. Nico acquired the habit of describing his surroundings, the colors, the shapes, the sensations, as a way to drown out whatever was going on inside his head. After a couple of minutes of that - though it always seemed like hours - he felt like he could breathe again. Will had suggested it to him, months ago, as a way to calm him down. It was always hard to maintain his focus long enough to go through with it, but it helped. 

His past had always clung to him, as a child would cling to their mother, afraid of being separated. There was a time when he found reason in his thoughts, in the words of self-blame flowing through his mind, in the hatred he thought the other campers had of him. Now, they were mostly meaningless words (although they still hurt and felt like salt in a wound), with the only exceptions being the ghosts that the nights would bring him - but those too he tried to ignore and understand that they held no truth. Will called it progress, though Nico wondered: towards what? Towards being happy? Being okay? He never reached a conclusion, but he figured it was towards  _ something _ good. It was nice, he supposed, to not be second-guessing his own worth all the time.

Before coming to Camp Half-Blood, when he used to keep himself isolated from others, he never thought he’d stick around for this long. Back then, his nightmares used to consume him, make him feel so small and insignificant in comparison to everything else. It broke him, from the inside out, piece by piece. No plans for the future, if he was to have one at all. He was alone, and all of his sorrow, all of his fears, he had to endure alone. No guidance, no one to whom he could ask for advice. No longer a child, although not yet a teen. A twelve year old, who no longer had anyone to call family. All alone. And he was alone for a good couple of years, but despite all of his doubts, all of his issues stemming from the place, he returned to the camp. Perhaps he had been wrong about what the campers thought of him - and indeed he was; they were apprehensive at first, as any would be with a child of Hades, but they eventually warmed up to him. Took him as one of their own. And Nico, for what might have been the first time, felt like he belonged somewhere, felt like he had people (a certain someone, to be more specific) he could someday call family.

Not all was sunshine and rainbows, just like there’s not only black nor white; the nightmares persisted (some forms of it still do), the thought that he didn’t really belong flooded his mind like a tsunami. It was the same as before - the wish for isolation, the self-doubt, the feeling of impotence - yet it was different. He wasn’t alone. He couldn’t ask, would never dare to ask, for any form of help before, whereas now he not only had people who would support him in some way, he had begun to understand that he could ask. Some minor advice from Chiron, a joke from Dionysus that somehow helped, a shoulder to cry on in cabin 7. There were people that cared for him, that  _ wanted _ him there with them. And that was more than enough to make him stay.

Make no mistake, he had not forgotten the things that had happened to him, the things he was forced to go through before settling in; those, regardless of whether he wanted or not, helped shape him into who he is. There was no need to erase the memories - they, good or bad, are part of him, but they did not need to define him. Although they still caused pain, Nico understood that some things were meant to be let go eventually. It was not immediate, but yes a slow process. He still dreamt of possibilities, of different outcomes, but he understood they would only lead to more suffering. Children of Hades were known to hold grudges - it was their fatal flaw after all - but perhaps it was time he let go of some of them. Perhaps it was time he allowed the shadows, that once reigned, to rest.

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone would care to enlighten me as to how my Own Dumbass Gay human brain came up with that summary. please tell me i feel like ive stolen the thoughts and thought process of an old 18th century best seller novel writer 
> 
> also in my notes i wrote “an understanding of where he came from, but the knowledge that he is not bound to his past” as a description of this before i wrote it n then i opened the google doc and spewed raw bullshit that formed in between my synapses at that very second n the description no longer applies to this but its Almost that i suppose? listen i got an extra braincell (as opposed to my usual 0 braincells) a few months ago and i Do Not know how to handle it. 
> 
> twt: @__moonshrine  
> tumblr: @mlnseoks


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